“Nervous,” Wu said. “He offered us an additional five hundred thousand to keep him all the way out of it and get Ione off the hook.
Then he flew back to London.”
“Artie,” Mott said.
“Yes?”
“I really don’t need to hear everything,” Mott said and broke the connection.
Wu recradled the phone, frowned at it for a moment, then turned to Stallings. “What d’you think, Booth?”
“I think your phone pal Oil Drum not only stole the tapes but also killed the limo driver, Mr. Santillan, then did in the Goodisons and tried to run over you and me at the motel in Oxnard.”
“How very neat,” Wu said.
“It’d be even neater if he also killed Billy Rice,” Stallings said.
“Except he didn’t,” Wu said.
“No.”
“But you think you know who did.”
“Maybe.”
“Like to share your suspicions?”
“Depends,” Stallings said.
“On what?”
“On what happens to Georgia,” Stallings said.
Artie Wu tugged at his right earlobe as he seemed to examine something that was just beyond Stallings’s left shoulder. “You think I’ve sent Georgia down the path to temptation rather than redemption, don’t you?”
“You sure as hell’ve pointed the way.”
“Then why would I send Quincy with her?”
“That stumps me.”
“How does Quincy seem to you—compared to five years ago?”
Stallings considered the question. “He’s turned sour and about as remote as the moon—although he never was what I’d call a bucket of laughs.”
“And Georgia?”
“She’s moved to the outback of remote.”
“What I’ve done,” Wu said slowly, “or what I hope I’ve done, is to send them on a cure together.”
“A cure that can get ‘em both killed—if they don’t kill each other first.”
“But the interesting thing is, Booth, they both know what I’m doing and neither objects.”
“Maybe the cure will take and maybe it won’t,” Stallings said. “But as long as I know you’re not setting Georgia up, I’ll go along.”
“I’m very fond of Georgia,” Wu said. “You know that.”
“Ever been stuck on her?”
“No,” Wu said. “But then Agnes was already—present.”
“Durant was once,” Stallings said. “Stuck on her.”
Wu nodded.
“So was Otherguy.”
Wu moved his shoulders just enough to form a slight shrug.
“And now me,” Stallings said.
“You’re a lucky man, Booth,” Wu said, paused, then asked, “About what you said earlier?”
“About who killed Rice?”
Wu nodded. “Is it a hunch?”
“More notion than hunch.”
“Notions are good, too,” Wu said with a couple of judicious nods.
“Need anything?”
“Money, but I’ll cash a check at the bank for five thousand.”
“Want me to tag along?”
Stallings shook his head and rose.
